


The Librarians and the Inevitable Futures

by PurpleSquirrel



Category: Person of Interest (TV), The Librarians (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:21:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleSquirrel/pseuds/PurpleSquirrel
Summary: When Cassandra Cillian's name is produced by The Machine, Reese and Finch must find out what the mathematical genius is involved with.  But all is not as it seems, and they find themselves drawn into a case where they will need the help of the librarian team if they are to avert the future foretold by Finch's machine...
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	The Librarians and the Inevitable Futures

“We have a new number, Mr Reese.”   
The tall man in the bespoke suit leaned against an overloaded bookcase and absent-mindedly petted the head of a large dog, which thumped its tail happily on the bare floorboards. “Wall Street, the mob, or familial dispute?”   
“None of the above, Mr Reese. A Miss Cillian. She works at the Metropolitan Public Library.” Finch stood and limped over to the cracked Perspex display sheet, where he taped up a blurry photograph of a red-haired woman. “Cassandra Cillian, thirty-seven years old. Diagnosed with a brain tumour in her late teens but had a successful surgery a few years ago. Worked as a hospital janitor until eight years ago, when she mysteriously quit her job and moved to New York for her new role at the Library.”   
“Which is…?”  
“I’m not sure.” Finch stared at the picture, contemplating the woman with large eyes and auburn waves. “Her digital footprint is, shall we say, sparse. When she started her new job, she seemed to fall off the face of the planet.”   
“A girl after your own heart, Finch,” Reese murmured.   
Finch nodded. “I’ll advise Miss Shaw, although I think she’s otherwise occupied. You should be able to handle this on your own.”   
“Do we have a location?”   
“The Machine only gives us a number, Mr Reese. You know that.”   
Reese inclined his head. “But you are so much more than the Machine.”   
Finch allowed himself a small smile. “How true. She walks in Central Park most days and takes the same route. And Bear needs a walk.”   
The dog thumped his tail harder and looked up at the man in the suit with enthusiasm. 

* * * * *

Cassandra calculated. She saw the infinite lines of possibility reaching away from her, the angles of the towering buildings that she knew so well, and calculated her distance from the four corners of the park as she walked. She sent the answer to a puzzle straight into the mind of the middle-aged businessman who was sat with a Sudoku book on his lap, chewing the end of a pencil. She considered the volume of the space underneath the curved Glen Span Bridge and was just about to begin the complex task of calculating water flow through the park when a large dog bounced up to her, mouth open in a doggy grin, tail wagging and trailing a lead.   
Immediately, she looked around for the dog’s owner. She spotted him; a tall man in a suit and long winter coat, wearing an apologetic expression.   
“I’m sorry,” he said by way of introduction as he drew closer. His voice was deep and quiet, almost a whisper. “Bear seems to like you.”   
She smiled. “It’s okay. I like dogs.” Kneeling down, she rubbed the dog’s ears and he whined with pleasure. “I was never allowed one growing up and working as a…well, where I do…it just wouldn’t work.”   
“Where do you work?” he enquired politely, bending to retrieve the end of the dog’s lead.   
“At the library.”   
She could almost feel him looking her up and down and coming the conclusion that most people did: she did not look like she ought to. Librarians shouldn’t wear bright floral tights with cut-off shorts and magenta knitted cardigans. Well, normal librarians, at any rate. Cassandra classed her job as anything but normal – there were only four people with her job in the whole world, and none of the other three approached the spectrum of normal either. Hmm…spectrum, seven colours, square of seven was forty-nine, forty-nine seconds until two pm, two pm when the bells sounded and sent a spiral of green lights into the air with their cascading chimes…  
The man’s deep voice cut into her thoughts. “Are you going there now?”   
Cassandra blinked and stared at him. His eyes were very blue, she realised. Blue like Bach’s music sounded. “I’m sorry?”   
“The library,” he said. “Are you going there now?”  
She nodded. “Oh, yes. I just like to get out and about. Don’t get much of a chance to do that in the library,” she added.   
He gave a brief smile. “Don’t let me keep you,” he said. “Sorry again for the interruption.”   
Cassandra flashed him an easy grin in return. “Not a problem! Have a nice day, both of you.” She turned and began walking away, back the direction she had come and towards the tunnel. As she walked, she fished out her phone and dialled her work. It rang twice before someone answered with a smug Australian accent.   
“Ezekiel Jones, world’s greatest thief and Librarian, how may I direct your call?”   
She sighed. “Fire up the back door, Jones. Glen Span bridge.” She glanced back over her shoulder; the tall man in a suit was nowhere to be seen but something about the whole encounter seemed slightly off. “And do it quickly.”  
The bells began to sound their viridian song of two o’clock into the New York soundscape. 

* * * * *

“There’s something strange about this one, Finch,” Reese said as soon as he was sure the red-haired woman was out of earshot.   
Finch’s voice came back loud and clear over the earpiece. “Oh?”   
“She works at the Metropolitan Library.”   
“That is correct.”   
“And she walks in Central Park every day?” Reese walked slowly through the Glen Span bridge, where he’d last seen Cillian, running his gloved fingers over the damp, cold bricks thoughtfully.  
“According to the camera footage, she’s there most days.”   
“How does she get to the park?”   
There was silence from the earbud. “I’ll have to look into that for you, Mr Reese. Can you follow her?”   
“No.”  
“No?”   
“She’s…gone.”   
“Gone? Gone where?”   
Reese sighed with frustration. “That’s what I’m trying to say, Finch. I followed her in the opposite direction to the library, and she just vanished. Either our new number’s got some training, or she’s using magic to disappear.”   
Finch’s tone was disapproving. “There’s no need to be like that, Mr Reese. I’m monitoring the cameras around the library. If you head there now, hopefully you’ll be able to find her again.”  
“I’m already on it. Just…do a bit more digging on her?”   
“As you say, Mr Reese, I am already on it. And Mr Reese?”   
“Yes, Finch?”   
“Pick up some more dog biscuits. We’re nearly out.” 

* * * * *

Cassandra stepped through the back door and into the library. The bright blue-tinged light faded as she closed the ornate door behind her.   
“Did you get the sandwiches?”   
She tossed a paper bag to the young Australian who was lounging – there was no other word for his position – in Flynn’s chair, feet insolently resting on a pile of books on the desk. “Flynn’s going to kill you if he finds you there. And if he doesn’t, Baird will.”   
Ezekiel Jones, thief extraordinaire, grinned as he caught the bag and opened it. “They can try, mate. Ooh, extra bacon…”   
“He’s got Cal patrolling, you know,” she said, setting down her rucksack on the huge oak table that took up most of the centre of the room. “If you wind up with a magical sword at your throat, don’t blame me.”   
Jones shrugged and began stuffing the sandwich into his mouth while checking something on his phone. Cassandra shook her head and walked over to the clippings book. Large and leather-bound, it twitched a little as she approached, its pages rustling excitedly.   
“Got something new for us?” she asked, and it all but jumped up into the air in response, pages flipping open to a new spread and articles materialising before her gaze.   
Cassandra read the first one, her eyes growing wider. “Er…Jones? Go find the others…”  
“Is something wrong, Miss Cillian?”   
She spun round in time to see an elderly man with white hair and an impossibly perfect suit walking into the room. “Jenkins! You’re back!” She sprinted over to him and flung her arms around his neck in a welcoming hug, a huge smile spreading on her face. “Did you have a nice time?”   
Jenkins nodded. “I did indeed, the Cities of Gold are lovely at this time of year.”  
Behind them, Jones’s voice perked up. “Cities of Gold, did you say? Any…souvenirs I can help you unpack?”   
“No, thank you, Mr Jones. Your assistance will not be required. Miss Cillian, if you would be so kind as to take that brown bag up to the nursery.”  
The bag gave a faint cheeping sound as she picked it up. “Nursery…?”   
“Up the second set of stairs, after the Babylonian prophecy shelves. It has a stork on the door.”   
Cassandra nodded and headed out of the room, pausing only to say, “Can you take a look at the clippings book, Jenkins? This one might need all of us.”


End file.
